Be As Just And Gracious Unto Me,

How Poor Are They That Have Not Patience! What Wound Did Ever Heal But By Degrees?

Wisely, I Say, I Am A Bachelor.

Conscience Is A Blushing, Shamefaced Spirit Than Mutinies In A Man's Bosom; It Fills One Full Of Obstacles.

Bad Is The Trade That Must Play Fool To Sorrow, Ang'ring Itself And Others.

On The Bat’s Back I Do Fly After Summer Merrily.